Down the Rabbit Hole
by Chi Muffins
Summary: Thirty years before the one they knew as Thomas Anderson was born, another saga took place that, over the years, was lost. This is the story of the hovercraft Babylon.


Down the Rabbit Hole – Part I.  
  
"Agent Williams," said Agent Jones. "Glad you could join us." He and the new Agent (what was his name?) were standing above him. The hacked program. Agent Williams had seen this too many times before and this probably wouldn't be the last.  
"Would you do the honour of analyzing the program?" Asked the new Agent. What was his name?  
"Analysis verifies that he was hacked, but the damage done to his code is beyond repair. All that faces him now is deletion."  
The program writhed in - was that "agony" they called it? Williams was becoming accustomed to being the only Agent created to feel emotion, and was interested in learning the names of these emotions. "It's coming," the program said from between the blurs in his coding. "The end. The end is coming."  
Williams made a jab for the program's ribs. He began to disintegrate, and within seconds he was no more. "What concerns me is this," Williams said discontentedly. "The firewall of this program was designed specially to prevent any outside interference. The only thing able to break a firewall of that magnitude is another program."  
"Another program," Jones repeated. He held his hand up to his earpiece. Somewhere, there was another program. One anticipating patiently (if not uneasily) to be deleted. Somewhere, Agent Williams was needed to deliver that deletion.  
  
"Gear!" The crew of the Babylon had entered Zion. Captain West, Gear, Blade, Kodiak, Luna, Hamann, and Ixion managed to pick up their luggage before the voice rang through the dock. It was the same voice that always confirmed that they were home.  
"Gear, I was wondering if you guys had run into a pack of sentinels or something! I was worried." The overenthusiastic Morpheus made an attempt at helping Kodiak, the heavy-set operator, with his baggage.  
"Morpheus?" Gear interrupted his mindless banter. "Did you ever think of getting a hobby? Or a life?"  
Luna, the gunner/operative, shot a nasty look at him. "Be considerate," she said while Morpheus moved ahead in disappointment. "He's just looking for a role model. You should be proud."  
"Proud?" Gear suppressed a laugh. "He's annoying as Hell." But Luna had no time to reprimand his comment, because they reached his house.  
As the group moved onward, he waved good-bye to them, and walked in, glad to be alone. He didn't know how long the solitude would last, or how long it would be untill he had to be back out on the Babylon. For now, though, he was alone.  
  
Agent Smith was his name. He was short, for an Agent. But he was strong. And fast, too. Jones was also brawny, but not brainy. Smith was brainy. Whenever they were terminating rebels, he always knew what to do and how to do it. He always had a plan. Williams had admired him for that from the start.  
Though the program from two months ago was deleted, the message he carried remained. Like an incription unable to be overwritten, it remained. "The end," he said. "The end is coming." There was something that circulated about the rebels. A phrase they said whenever they themselves faced termination. They said, "Everything that has a beginning has an end." And, Williams thought, perhaps that's what the program deleted two months ago was referring to.  
But what was going to come to an end?  
  
"It didn't last long enough," Gear was telling Blade. "The vacation, I mean. If you can call it that."  
"It never does," he replied. Blade was the munitions engineer. And he was damn good at what he did. He didn't come across as an engineer of any sort, what with his tall, lanky appearance, spiky hair (he kept it up with motor oil was the rumor), and skinny demeanor. He loaded another strip of rounds into the turret guns.  
In the cockpit, Captain West and Ixion prepared for takeoff. The usual gathering was there to wave them good-bye. Friends, family, Morpheus.  
"Hey, Morpheus isn't down there," Gear noticed.  
"What, worried about him?" Blade asked. "Have you grown attached to the kid?"  
"No! I, uh, just noticed he wasn't there. He never misses it when we take off. Just weird, that's all."  
Before they knew it, they were departing. They had patrol of Zion. Gear, Luna, and Blade would also be going into the Matrix for a time; there was work to be done there.  
As was customary, Gear hung back in his room untill he was needed. "They're going in. You coming?" Hamann asked. He was usually unseen by the rest of the crew unless it was in the mess hall or if they were going onto or off of the ship. He was fascinated by machinery. Always was. So, naturally, he was the maintenance man. "Hey!"  
Gear came out of his stupor. "Oh. Yeah. Coming."  
  
The phone rang. Ring. Ring. Ring. Blade picked it up. "We're in."  
Dressed in black coats, sunglasses (save for Luna, who wore goggles), and boots, they approached the station. The subway was a dangerous place for a rebel. Regardless, they were here. Waiting for the train that the meeting would take place on.  
"The program regulating cause and effect," began Blade with the mission briefing.  
"The Merovingian," Gear interrupted.  
"Right. His 'Trainman' program is bringing an exile to the real world. We were sent to accompany it and protect it on its excursion."  
"For what purpose?" Luna asked.  
"The program is vital to the never-ending reconnaissance of information," at this point, Blade paused to look past Luna's shoulder at a man in a black suit and sunglasses.  
"What is it?"  
"No earpiece. Never mind. I thought it was an Agent," relieved, he continued, "Anyway, the exile knows something we don't."  
"What about?" Gear asked.  
"About the One," answered a gruff voice. All three of them looked to see who it was. A homeless man with piercing eyes, horrid teeth, and a mangled fringe of hair stood before a train that had just pulled up. "Well, are we going to get on or not? I have a strict schedule to keep for the Merovingian."  
  
The exile was a small boy, probably seven years old. He had brownish- black hair and seemed a wiry, nervous wreck.  
"The One?" Gear asked. "The One is just a myth. A legend made to give hope to those who can't find it any other way."  
"This is neither the time nor place to discuss reality and fiction," replied Blade.  
"Aren't you, him, her, all of these people, in a fictional world?" said the exile, who was sitting across from them.  
All was silent for a while.  
"But we know it isn't real," said Blade finally.  
"How can you be sure what's real and what isn't?" replied the program. "For a long time, you all thought that the world you lived in was real, and when that was disproven you moved on to a new set of beliefs incorporating this newfound discovery. Who's to say that what you believe to be real now isn't actually real, and that it, too, will soon be disproven?"  
Again, all was silent.  
"What's your name?" asked Gear.  
"They call me Mouse," the program responded. "I wish to be reborn into humanity someday so that I can escape my programming and live a life."  
"Like a human," Luna interjected.  
"Like a human," replied Mouse. All of them were too engaged with Mouse, they failed to notice the woman on board the train with them.  
"Ma'am?" Blade got up to see who she was. "Excuse me, Ma'am, this is a reserved train. What are you doing here? Who are you?"  
The woman got up. She wore a suit, sunglasses, and, as became evident when she drew her amber-coloured hair behind her ears, an earpiece. "Who am I?" she said. "Williams. Agent Williams."  
  
So much is not known about the way the machines do things and why they do them. In a way, they themselves are as complex as humans are. Though they deny that they resemble humans, they know that their AI is only a reflection of the human intellect. Emotion was something that they were always fascinated by, however useless they thought it to be. This is how the first Agent to feel emotion came to be.  
"You can't be an Agent, though. You're female! All Agents are males," said Blade.  
Amused, Williams laughed. "Appearances can be deceiving. I don't believe we've made each others' acquaintance," she said.  
"Blade," said Blade.  
"Gear."  
"Luna."  
Mouse looked at all of them. "Is now the part when you all fight?"  
"Come now," replied Agent Williams. "I believe that there are a lot of confrontations that can be resolved without the use of force. All you need to do is let me delete that exile, and we can all leave here unscathed." She reached over to ram her fingers into Mouse's ribcage when a shot from a gun rang through the cart. The bullet seemed to pass right through Williams's head, untill they realized she cocked her head to one side before the bullet could hit her. "That was not smart," she said. The smoke rose slowly from Gear's gun. He backed away from Williams as she approached him. Luna and Blade knew that weapons were useless, so they abandoned theirs and used the strategy they were always taught to use: "When you see an Agent, you run. You run your ass off." So they did. Gear ran toward the back of the train with Mouse moving ahead. Blade and Luna went up on top of the subway train. Williams decided to follow the exile. "If I have to fight you, I'm not afraid to," Gear called to the Agent as she followed him.  
"Then why are you running?" The lights flickered on and off, making the otherwise stainless train seem filthy with darkness. Williams had them cornered before long. She stood at the doorway between the last and second- to-last carts and took off her sunglasses. "The emotions you humans feel. I feel them, too. I wonder, though. What is it called when you feel like you've won something, like a battle?"  
"Triumphant."  
She thought for a second. "Triumphant." She smiled wickedly. "I feel triumphant."  
  
"Now!" Luna cried. Blade drew his submachine gun and shot through the divide between the last and second-to-last carts. Down below them, Williams dodged all 200 rounds fired magnificently. Not a single bullet came within an inch of her.  
"You never learn!" Williams exclaimed. "You humans! Don't you know we're impermeable to bullets?"  
She failed to notice that the carts were now disconnected thanks to the gunfire, and the last cart was slowly drifting away from her. When she did realize, she smiled and clapped casually. "Very good. Very good," she said. "Yes. You can run, this time. But this won't be the last time we meet." The cart gradually moved apart from the rest of the train, untill it finally came to a stop conveniently at a subway station.  
  
Gear was sorry Mouse was unable to realize his dream of coming to the real world. They left him in the care of the Oracle untill the next transfer could happen.  
"What does he know?" he asked her before she left. "Did he say anything about the One?"  
"For somebody who doesn't believe in the 'myth' of the One, you sure are inquisitive about it," the Oracle replied. She lit a cigarette and continued. "But he did speak, yes. He told me that all he knew was when and where the One's incarnate would be born in the Matrix. He said that the war between humans and machines would end, and that Zion would be saved."  
Gear laughed. "Optimistic bullshit. I don't think there's ever going to be an end to this war, and if there is, no one man is going to end it. There never was any savior or messiah like the One and there never will be."  
The Oracle smiled. "Then how did you get here?"  
Gear was, as always, speechless at the Oracle's words of wisdom. He looked down.  
"I'll tell you what," the Oracle said, breaking the silence. "You take a cookie." She handed him a cookie from the plate on the table.  
"No. Thanks. I, um, really don't want a cookie," Gear replied.  
"Suit yourself," the Oracle said, putting it back. She looked at him warmheartedly. "You think on it, honey. Next time you come and see me, I'm sure you'll feel differently about things."  
"That's a vague prediction," he replied.  
"You want a real prediction? Okay. Next time you come and see me, you're going to want to take a cookie." She took one last drag on her cigarette, and put it out in the ashtray. 


End file.
